


Feeling Good

by thegraytigress



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a new world. Maria's trying to find her place. Steve's trying to find his home. Somehow they find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Good

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Avengers,_ and _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for language)
> 
> This follows through _Age of Ultron_ , so there are mentions of Tony/Pepper, Thor/Jane, and Bruce/Natasha. Mentions. This is 100% Steve/Maria. Enjoy, my darlings. Just FYI: I'm flubbing the timing of the party just a little, running things a tiny bit more concurrently than the movie maybe suggested.

_“It’s a new dawn.  It’s a new day.  It’s a new life for me._  
_And I’m feeling good.”_  
\- Nina Simone, “Feeling Good”

 There’s a moment during the party where she honestly thinks the jig is up.

_The jig is up.  Who even says that anymore?_

When she and Steve started seeing each other a little while ago, it was with the strict understanding that no one would find out about it.  Mostly it was at her insistence, but he understood.  She figured it was because of Carter.  His relationship with her during World War II was pretty common knowledge, and while Maria herself has never met the legendary agent and former SHIELD director, she can’t imagine Carter would be very public or forthcoming about a love affair she was having with anyone, not even Captain America.  Discretion is always the better part of valor, and Rogers seemed quite capable of it.  He even seems to enjoy it, having this little secret, or enjoy keeping her happy.  Or both.  She’s not used to the latter, to be honest.

And they’ve made a pointed effort to _never_ address anything at work.  It’s been fairly successful so far.  She made it clear right from the beginning that _any_ hint of _anything_ going on in their personal lives is _absolutely_ off limits on the job.  This is the way she’s always operated, as cool and pragmatic, stoic and strictly by the book.  It’s served her well, though it hasn’t won her any friends.  It was ingrained in her in her youth, a childhood spent not wanting to be where she was, learning control because that was the only source of power she had under her oblivious mother and cruel stepfather’s watch.  She’s been so closed off for so long that many of her peers (well, subordinates by the time SHIELD collapsed) thought she’s incapable of feeling anything.  A robot.  A machine.  The ice queen, they called her.  An automaton following Fury’s directions.  Someone who can’t feel good.

She’s learning every day that she can feel good.  _Really_ good.  She’s not used to that, either, and a part of her is afraid of becoming used to it.  In their line of work, it doesn’t seem wise to _ever_ need anything or anyone.  Attachment is weakness and liability.  She learned long ago that the only person upon whom you can count is yourself.

Yourself and Captain America, apparently.  That shouldn’t have been the surprise it was given who _he_ is.  She knew the stories, of course, about how decent and loyal and strong he is.  Everyone did.  And before the fall of SHIELD, she spent some time here and there with him but always in a professional setting.  She was his boss (in a sense.  Rogers’ affiliation with SHIELD was always more of him helping as he saw fit, but technically she was above him in the chain of command).  They never hit it off, never even skirted close to something remotely similar to friendship let alone what they share now.  But then HYDRA exploded and she destroyed three enemy helicarriers with Steve still trapped aboard one.  It isn’t her fault, how hurt he was after the battle over the Potomac, and she knows that.  He’s told her many, many times.  He ordered her to retarget the Insight carriers on each other, and she followed that order.  He ended up on the riverbank, riddled with bullets and stabbed and nearly drowned.  That was the first time in a long, _long_ time that she truly regretted her choices, that she regretted who she was.  She was the sort that would without more than a moment’s hesitation condemn someone like that.  Hardened to a fault.

Fury, Romanoff, and Wilson found him and got him to a hospital.  They saved his life.  She came to see him when he was in the ICU, intending on only paying her respects while he was unconscious.  A coward’s way, certainly, but with her world falling apart, it felt like all she could manage.  The minute she saw him, though, all thoughts of whispering an apology to his unresponsive form and promptly leaving faded, and she found herself at his side almost constantly as he teetered between life and death.  She was circumspect about it, of course, coming up with excuses when she was caught, trying to arrange it so she was there when Wilson wasn’t.  Maria counts herself as calm and unwavering, hard to rile and harder still to truly shake, but when she came back from getting a cup of coffee one morning two days after the battle to find him watching her with pained, hazy, confused eyes, she was stunned into silence.  _“Hey,”_ he said, like he was _expecting_ to see her there.  And then, _“I told you to do it.”_   Like he somehow knew about her guilt and shame, even though he’d been practically comatose when she confessed it.  He reached his hand over, his knuckles split and bruised so badly, and boldly took hers.  She’s pretty sure that was the first time he touched her.  _“It’s alright.”_ She stared in his eyes, such a pretty blue that she never appreciated before, and he stared into hers, and that, as they say, was that.  A whole new uncertain world.

So now they’re here.  It’s been six months of what they have now, this _thing_.  She doesn’t want to call it a relationship (even though it is) and she doesn’t want to call him her boyfriend (even though he is).  She doesn’t want to call it anything, let alone here and now, at a party _full_ of people.  She’s not ready for that (for any of this, this life she leads now without someone else in control).  But it’s exciting, what they’re doing.  Like a game only they know about.  His little glances that she’s pretending not to notice.  The way she can’t stop looking at him, either, as he chats with Wilson, a pool cue in one hand.  He looks… ridiculously good tonight, in that blue shirt that is maybe half a size too small, all easy smiles and easy camaraderie.  How easy it seems for him.  It makes her wonder for a second if perhaps she should stop caring so much what other people think and just go with it.  So she’s sleeping with Captain America.  What’s the problem with that?  She knows quite a few women (a great deal of the female population of SHIELD before it went to hell, in fact) who would probably kill for what she inexplicably has right now.  Why not be happy?  Will it _matter_ if people find out?  The spy in her says yes – never reveal information that could potentially be used against you later – but the woman in her…  Even now she’s not the only one in this room ogling him, and she knows it.  She’s just much more subtle about it.  This is the first time they’ve been anywhere since they started seeing each other, at least anywhere like this.  The sort of place and engagement where one may normally and without question bring a date.  They weren’t here on a date, though.  She made that clear before coming.  He’s doing his thing.  She’s doing hers.  No one is going to find out.

Still, just a part of her wants _everyone_ to know.

“What’s with you and Rogers?”

She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t hear the question at first.  “What?”

Rhodes cocked an eyebrow, and Maria realizes then that she has been staring at Steve.  _Stupid._   “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Rhodes replies dubiously, a smug little grin on his face.  “Sure.”

For once she doesn’t know what to say – imagine that – but thankfully that doesn’t matter.  Thor and Stark come over to the bar to refill their drinks, and Rhodes immediately launches into yet another tale of War Machine’s glory, and that serves to change the subject.  It doesn’t take much for her to gather her equanimity again, and she dons a perfectly confident smile (though not before shooting Steve another glance that he catches this time).  It’s like an addiction.  “What about Jane?  Where are the ladies, gentlemen?”

It doesn’t take much for the discussion to devolve into a testosterone fest (which she aptly points out, putting the billionaire and the demigod in their places before taking her leave).  She heads off at Rhodes’ side, eyes scanning again.  “He went upstairs with Falcon,” the other man supplies.

She smiles at him, hoping he’s noticing the warning in her eyes.  “Never said I was looking for him, Colonel.”

“Uh-huh,” he says again.  “You know, there’s nothing wrong with–”

“Don’t need to hear it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He nods, but that knowing smirk doesn’t leave his face.  God, no wonder he and Stark hit it off so damn well.  They may seem like polar opposites, fire and water, calm versus chaos, but underneath it, Rhodes is every bit as annoying and it’s harder to hate him for it.  “Well, I’m off to find someone who appreciates a good story.”

He does just that.  Maria sinks into a chair on the lower level for a while, grateful for a bit of solitude, and watches the lively party around her.  She’s going to do this.  Sit here and maintain a tactical vantage of things under an easy smile and a frivolous air.  She’s _not_ spending these minutes looking for him.  She’s not wishing she was on his arm ( _hell, no_ ) like Potts would be on Stark’s or Foster on Thor’s had they come.  Like Banner and Romanoff have their not-so-subtle and out-of-nowhere thing going on.  She’s not regretting anything.  She’s not regretting shooting Steve down before he even got a chance to suggest they ignore all of this discretion and secrecy and just be open and feel good.  She’s not regretting clinging to professionalism and distance.  No.

Frustrated with herself, she gets up, setting her empty glass on one of the coffee tables.  Then she goes outside.  It’s a little chilly out here, but it’s quiet and beyond Avengers Tower the city is peaceful and tranquil.  Above the night is clear with a pristine array of stars.  She walks to the edge of the balcony, her heels clicking on the concrete, until she’s wrapping hands around the cold railing.  She stands there, watching, listening.  Finding comfort in the quiet.  She always has.  Things feel so different every time she pauses for even a moment to let it in.  A world without SHIELD.  It’s hard to believe.  She gave her life to SHIELD.  It was her purpose, her foundation, the rigid spine of her existence.  And she’s doing important work now, but somehow it’s not the same.  She’s not sure if she’s okay with that.  She’s always been focused on the big picture.  Fury’s objectives.  World security.  Peace, if they can be so bold.  The details are irrelevant and easy to ignore.  The big picture is what matters, and here and now, it’s so blurry that she’s not sure she knows what it is anymore.

“Hiding out here?”

His familiar voice makes her turn (and makes her stomach flip just a little – _pathetic_ ).  He’s standing by the windows, bathed in the light from the gathering inside, smiling at her.  “I’m not hiding,” she replies coldly.

“Uh-huh.”

“What is it with you guys tonight?  Can’t say anything without getting a snide ‘uh-huh’ like you know better.”

He comes closer.  All of his distance, his reticence in dealing with her when she gets prickly or icy (which she does – she knows she does), disappeared months ago.  Steve is nothing if not persistent, and once he sets his mind to something, be it defeating HYDRA or finding the Winter Soldier or getting through her many defenses, he does.  “Never said I know better.”

“You don’t,” she declares firmly.

He stands right beside her.  He makes no move to touch her, even though every nerve in her body is acutely attuned to him and _waiting_ for it.  They aren’t exactly hidden out here, although she doesn’t think anyone will really notice with the amount of dancing and chit-chatting and drinking going on inside.  The noise of the party and the low hum of the city are soothing, and just having him close eases her nerves.  “You wanna get out of here?” he finally asks.

She gives him a wan look.  “Like no one will notice that.”

He shrugs.  “You’re making it hard not to touch you.  Or look at you.”  He’s doing both rather admirably right then, not touching or looking, so that’s rather at odds with the wistful tone of his voice.  She sees the corner of his mouth curl into a smile.  “Or have anything to do with you.”

She fights a smile.  She never quite knows with him.  Is he putting her on?  Trying to make her feel better by seeming so naïve about what he’s saying?  Or is he genuinely _that_ naïve?  For a simple guy with his heart on his sleeve, he’s surprisingly complex.  That’s one of the things she’s learned about him, that he’s _not_ this simple soldier everyone thinks.  That she once thought.  Well, he is, and he’s not, and he’s so much more than anyone realizes.  She likes that she knows that.  It’s information that’s _hers_ , not anyone else’s and not something she’s required to share.  “There are costs to pay, Captain.”

He finally turns to look at her.  “I don’t mind paying them.  Little discretion, right, Agent Hill?”

“That’s right.”

His eyes twinkle.  He glances over his shoulder, leaning his forearm on the railing, making a not so surreptitious check of the party.  No one is watching them that he can tell (obviously) because he nudges her lightly with his hip.  “But I think we’re alone out here.”

She pushes her hair behind her ear when a cool wind brushes it across her face.  It prickles her gooseflesh.  “You’re a soldier, Captain, not a spy.  Never assume you’re alone.”

He moves just a tad closer, still maintaining respectable distance so that anyone who may be watching will think it’s two colleagues discussing official business, but he’s near enough that she can see his eyes darken with desire.  The chilly breeze picks up his scent – clean soap and leather – and she can’t help but breathe deeply despite being cold.  “Yeah, well, maybe it would be okay to let the cat out of the bag.  What harm would it do?”  She has a million reasons _not_ to do that, not the least of which being she’s not ready, but she can’t say any of them.  “I’d like to give you a kiss.  No one’s watching anyway.”

“Not here.”

“Captain Rogers is correct,” JARVIS supplies.  She’s a little surprised to hear the AI’s voice out on the balcony, but Stark’s power and tech is far-reaching.  “With my more than precise analysis of the party, I can safely say no one is looking in your direction.  So you can feel free to continue.”

Apparently she’s forgotten her own advice already.  _Never assume you’re alone._ It’s easy to forget that JARVIS is always watching in the Tower.  There’s no place private.  It’s a bit Orwellian, but at least JARVIS is polite and aware of the concept of discretion.  Where in the world anything designed, developed, and implemented by Tony Stark could learn about tact is frankly beyond her.  It doesn’t matter, at any rate.  That interruption sours the moment.

He knows it.  He can read it in her face.  So he nods and lets it go.  He always defers to her concerning things like this, and it’s chivalrous and touching.  “No kiss then.  But I’m a soldier _and_ gentleman, ma’am, so here.”  He slides his jacket off and puts it around her.  It’s warm with his body heat and smells like him.  It’s almost like being hugged, and he wraps it a little tighter than he needs to across her bare shoulders and red party dress.  His hands linger longer than necessary, too, like a little challenge just to see what she’ll do.  Push him away.  Bring him closer.  She doesn’t do either because she’s not sure what she wants.  That’s an odd thing for her.  She’s always known what she wants.  He waits, waiting for her move against his in this little game they’re playing tonight.  He gives a short breath and a grin when she doesn’t reveal her hand.  “I’ll leave you to your hiding.”

He turns and walks away.  He’s gotten so bold with her over the last few weeks.  She has to admit she likes that, too.  “You think you’re so clever, Rogers.”

“Uh-huh.”  Then he walks inside.

She stays a little longer, looking out over the city.  And she can’t – _doesn’t_ – help it now.  No one can see.  She lifts the collar of his jacket to her face, takes a deep breath, and smiles.  He smells so good, too.  “JARVIS,” she says after a moment, “not a word of this to anyone.  I may not have the power to do anything to you, but I can make Stark’s life a living hell, and you know it.”

“Yes, Ms. Hill.  My proverbial lips are sealed.”

“Good.”

JARVIS doesn’t answer.  Maybe that should give her pause, but it doesn’t.  She goes back to the party and lets herself be happy.

* * *

Later on, when it’s late and the party has pretty much ended and only the Avengers remain, Stark makes a comment of course.  “Isn’t that Cap’s jacket?”

They’re standing near the main seating area, the coffee table cluttered with drinks and books.  Mjölnir sits on its edge, Thor chatting with Doctor Cho and Rhodes.  Steve is over at the bar, getting himself a beer and speaking with Bruce Banner.  Banner looks troubled, and Steve looks… oddly confident of whatever he’s saying.  She can barely hear him.  “As the world’s leading authority on waiting too long, don’t.  You both deserve a win.”  She barely catches his little glance, eyebrows arching like he meant for her to her that.  He takes the top off his beer and walks away to say goodnight to Wilson.

“Hello?  Maria?”

She drags her gaze back to Stark.  “What?”

“Cap’s jacket,” Tony said.  He’s got a glass of wine, and he seems a little loose.  “Isn’t that it?”

She eyes him evenly.  “It is.”

Stark has that look he has whenever he’s about to make an ass of himself.  “And why do you have Cap’s jacket?”

Cocking an eyebrow, she explains, “Because I was cold.”

Tony smirked.  “Uh-huh.”

She wants to hit him.  All of them.  “He’s a gentleman,” she adds, “which you wouldn’t know anything about.”

“Hey, don’t be mean,” he says, and she brushes by him.  “And wow.  You must be really carrying his torch.  Never heard you say anything nice about anyone before.  Captain Do-Gooder must be rubbing off on you.”  She saddles him with a stern glare.  “What?  You two do spend a lot of time together.”

“You said it yourself, Stark.  He’s in charge.  I’m the team’s handler.”  For a moment she fears she was too quick to dismiss.  Too forceful about it.  Too _telling_.  But she’s better than that.  “Jealous?”

“Of Rogers?  Hell, no.”  Stark’s downing the rest of his wine and shaking his head in obvious disgust at the mere idea.  “Did you know that perfect gentleman’s policing language now?  He scolded me, Hill.  _Scolded me._   On comms.  What the hell kind of soldier cares about swearing?”

 _The ridiculously noble kind._   Probably too noble for her, but she’s learning not to care.

Thankfully, there’s no need to say anything further.  The rest of the team gathers around.  They talk and drink and laugh for a while.  It feels _good_ , something she hasn’t very much experienced in her life (though she’ll never admit it or even give a hint of it).  This odd group of people has somehow become friends, and the mood is light and airy.  She watches, throws in a sharp comment or two here and there.  Mostly she watches Steve.  She watches him drink with Thor, watches his eyes be light and almost merry, watches him get up to try and lift Thor’s hammer.  Pokes her own fun at him.  No one will notice.  And maybe he’s right.  It doesn’t matter.  “Steve,” she starts after Barton makes a comment about Stark betting his ass over how rigged Thor’s hammer is, “he said a bad language word.”

To Steve’s credit, he keeps his surprise at her teasing under wraps, redirecting elsewhere, and she thinks maybe she’s worn off on him, too.  He turns to Stark, glaring and embarrassed.  “Did you tell everyone about that?”  She smiles into her bottle of beer, watching the men flaunt themselves and rationalize worthiness.  Another testosterone fest.  It’s alright.

And it’s nice.  It really is.  Steve’s jacket is warm around her, smooth leather and soft lining, and it still smells like him.  Even though he’s across the table on the other couch, he feels close, and everything is good.

Then Ultron shows up.

* * *

They’re in bed at her place.  It’s so late that it’s almost morning.  She came home first (although, given everything that happened, the need for secrecy seems rather childish and moot at this point).  He comes later, shucking his clothes and climbing in beside her.  He pauses a moment at the end of it, checking her foot where it’s wrapped.  She cut it badly from stepping in glass earlier during the attack.  He watched her extract every shard during the team meeting, and she saw how much he wanted to ask if she was okay, but he didn’t.  He knows better.  Now he does, asks and fawns over her, his long, callused fingers deft and gentle as he handles her sore toes.  She lets herself enjoy that, his silly concern over the covered-up cuts, his hands reverently sliding up her legs to her hips until he can hold her tight against him.

They don’t sleep much, not with Ultron running wild and likely making plans, but this little moment is nice.  He kisses her now, but it’s not the playful thing they both wanted before and danced around in their hearts and heads all night.  This is a more serious thing, the sort of kisses he gives her when he’s worried.  She’s worried, too, but they’re both soldiers, when it comes down it.  Maybe she gives him a hard time for not being a spy when the occasion calls for it, but in truth, neither is she.  She’s sticks to the rules, plays by the book, follows orders to the letter in order to get the job done right.  So does he.  They’re suited for each other like that.  Their world collapsed, and the spies scattered to the wind.  Fury.  Romanoff.  So many colleagues, taking the chance to run and reinvent.  Neither of them did.  They stayed, looking for order and purpose in the chaos.  That was one of the reasons they found each other, that they understand each other.  They don’t switch off.  They’re tactical, practical, him beset with optimism and her with realism.  They lay together in the dark, not talking, _thinking_.  She’s in his arms, and they’re both tired, but their minds are already running through the problems they’re facing.

The next morning, she has information.  She always does.  It’s not good, of course.  And of course they talk about it, this familiar construct of their relationship.  Just a few days okay she was debriefing him on the enhanced Maximoff twins and he was jokingly (but not entirely facetiously) likening himself to them.  After all, what sort of crazy person would allow a German scientist to experiment on him to protect their country?  A soldier.  _“We’re not at war, Captain.”_

_“They are.”_

Now it seems the Avengers are at war, too.  “He’s all over the globe,” she tells him as they walk through the mess of the Tower.  Shattered glass and broken furniture and apparently busted dreams.  The best intentions smashed to pieces.  She tells him about the attacks, the metal men raiding factories and weapons facilities, the guards left behind in a fugue state babbling incoherently about a demon too fast to see.  He’s concerned, even more so when she shows him the picture of Strucker dead.  Just a few days ago, capturing HYDRA’s top thug and reclaiming Loki’s scepter was all the team wanted to accomplish.  All the sudden Strucker’s been murdered, “PEACE” scrawled in blood on the wall of his prison cell, and the scepter is gone again.  She’s frustrated by that, and so is he.

He frowns as he looks at the tablet in his hands.  “Kind of a mixed message.”

“Is it?”  She can’t help but play Devil’s Advocate sometimes.  She did it with Fury.  She does it with Steve.  He plays into it about as much as Fury did, only it’s worse, because there’s this whole subtext to their relationship now.  There are things he’ll never know about her, and she prefers to keep it that way.  But there are other things he knows well, too well.  That she feels remorse but not necessarily shame.  That she hates that she hurt him, but not so much that she wishes she didn’t push that button and turn the Insight carriers on each other.  That she _does_ feel guilt about that for his sake but not regret.  And she can’t help herself.  It feels good to push him a little, challenge him.  Have him challenge her.  “If it was my mission, world peace, I’d probably take out Strucker, too.”

This is a point of contention between them.  Granted, they try not to bring work into their personal lives (again, that was her own requirement), but she can’t help this either sometimes.  She can be ruthless.  She’s the sort of person who’d make three helicarriers to destroy each other knowing the man responsible for saving the world is still aboard one.  He’s not.  He’s the sort to throw down his shield and let his deranged ex-best friend nearly kill him for the sake of trying to save what may not be salvageable.  “Ultron could be anywhere.  He could be pulling planes down from sky.  What if he’s just doing what he’s supposed to be doing?”

“If I thought Ultron was bringing peace I’d hang up my shield,” he says.

She doesn’t know what to think of that.  She knows about his doubts.  He doesn’t tell her directly, but she can see them sometimes.  This fear of his that he has no place, no home, no _life_ outside of a war.  She knows because she has the same worries.  “Would you?”

He gives her a look she can’t quite read.  Hurt maybe.  Angry.  Not quite.  “Would you?”

That gives her pause.  It’s startling sometimes, when he does things like this.  Defer to her.  Let her make the call, like she has some kind of power over him.  Like her decisions can affect him.  They have in the past.  She came to work for Tony under the guise of privatizing world security, and Steve followed, reforming the Avengers and stepping up into the leadership role.  It always leaves her reeling because he’s so earnest about it.  So damn earnest and sincere and she knows that if she tells him to quit…  “No.”

He actually smiles.  It’s rather grim, but it’s still a smile.  And she feels good seeing it.  “Then no.”  He hands her back the tablet, and she takes it with a little sigh.  His smile turns softer.  “Let me know if he leaves any more messages.”

Later on that afternoon, the Avengers assemble to fly to Johannesburg in South Africa to hunt down an arms dealer with apparently the largest store of vibranium in the world.  Steve’s on edge about that; she can tell.  It puts her on edge, too.  Her comments before about the merits of letting Ultron do what he’s intended to do feel stupid and childish now, and she doesn’t like being at odds with him.  Before she truly realizes what’s happening, he’s decked out in his uniform with his shield on his back and leaving with the rest of the team.  It’s not just him who’s tense; everyone is brimming with nervous, pent-up energy, overly eager to fix that they screwed up.  But he’s uncharacteristically rattled.  It’s enough that she pulls him aside while the rest of them are heading to the jet.  She feigns some sort of nonsense about a last minute addition to their information on Ulysses Klaw, but it’s really just to make sure he’s okay and to say she’s sorry for what she said before.  “Stark programmed him, right?  It’d be a minor miracle if he was actually doing what he’s supposed to be doing.”

Steve grins weakly.  “Tony’s not perfect, but I like to think he’s better than that.”

“You think everyone is better than what we are.”

He shakes his head, eyes glazing.  “Have to,” he murmurs.  She’s not sure who he’s talking about.  Stark.  Barnes.  Romanoff.  _Her._   She included herself in that.  _Everyone._   Steve snaps out of his reverie, offering up a curt nod.  “Advice?”

His militaristic way of asking her what to do, like she knows any better than he does.  “Complete the mission.  Stop him.”  She sighs, goes with her gut.  “Do whatever you think is best.”  She’s sure of a lot of things in this world.  Evil preserves.  Nothing is black and white.  It’s hard to let go, to be open, to be trusting.  And Captain America knows the right thing to do.  Amidst all her cynicism and icy pragmatism, that’s something in which she has faith.  Yet she worries.  That’s a novel thing in her world, like feeling good.  Being worried for someone, not just in terms of successfully completing operation objectives but in terms of _caring_ about that person’s wellbeing _._   Steve’s wellbeing, tied to her own.  It’s frightening but good at the same time.  Painful, yes, but somehow grounding and freeing at once, too.  “Be careful,” she says.  To any other observer, it seems casual.

He knows it’s not.  And he does away with propriety for a moment.  Everyone else is in the jet, so he pushes her a bit further down the hall away from the helipad and wraps an arm around her.  He’s going to kiss her, and he’s going to do it _here_ , where anyone might see, and she’s so excited by that and it feels so good that she can’t make herself care if it’s wrong.  Just as he leans down there, there’s a shout from the landing pad.  “Rogers!  Stop sucking face with Hill and get over here!  We’re wasting time!” Stark yells.

She goes rigid.  Steve’s cheeks color red, and he blows out a short, annoyed breath.  “He can’t see us,” he assures, but even he seems flustered and doubtful.  Again the moment is ruined.  He sighs as he leans back, deflating in disappointment and sudden weariness.  “I’ll be careful, Agent Hill.  And we’ll stop them.”

“See that you do, Captain.”

There’s a last look of him as he walks away.  She keeps it above the board.  Mostly.  Okay, for one little second, she let herself look at his butt.  She’s only human.  Once the jet’s ramp is up and the aircraft is loudly hovering above the landing pad, she grits her teeth a little before forcing herself to go back inside to wait.

* * *

Things don’t go well.

That’s probably putting it mildly.

“The news is loving you guys,” Maria says.  “Nobody else is.”  She sounds more flippant than she needs to, than she wants to.  This is something else she does that she doesn’t like.  In the face of disaster, act cool.  Be aloof, judgmental, and distant.  Untouched by the trouble.  Unblemished by it.  It’s a useful tool in a leadership capacity, both to inspire confidence and to inflict the appropriate amount of shame in the face of failure.  She doesn’t want to do that to the team.  She knows they need support, now more than ever.  It’s hard not to maintain the distance, though.  The physical separation is only reinforcing the emotional one.  It’s a natural reaction, too, the way she’s escaped so much in her life.  The mess of worry and fear and disappointment inside right now is almost too much to bear.  “There’s been no official call for Banner’s arrest, but it’s in the air.”

Stark is sedate.  He asks about the Stark Relief Foundation.  As she answers, she can see even he is devastated.  If he’s this down, this low, what must the others be like?  She knows enough of what happened to understand that the Maximoff girl got into their heads, attacked with nightmares and visions, dropped everyone save Stark and Barton.  On the exterior, Maria’s definitely calm.  Placid.  In control.  On the inside, though, she’s terrified for Steve.

She can’t see him.  Barton’s flying.  Stark’s right there, his tired, haggard face taking up most of the screen.  The rest of the team must be in the shadows behind him.  She can’t see beyond that.  _She can’t see Steve._   And she can’t ask about him.  That damn discretion, that fear of being found out.  Somehow it’s even stronger than her fear for him.  It’s sad, and this does shame her.  “How’s the team?” she finally says.

“Everyone’s…”  Stark doesn’t finish.  _Everyone’s what?  What?_   A sigh.  He shakes his head.  “We took a hit.  We’ll shake it off.”

 _Come back.  Come home._   It’s the first time Steve’s been… _hurt_ since SHIELD collapsed, and she is quickly finding that she can’t stand it.  That calm exterior feels like it’s cracking, even though she knows it’s not.  She’s seen catastrophe before, worked through it, came out stronger for it.  Succumbing to her emotions never serves her (or anyone else) well.  So she lets logic speak, and it speaks firmly.  “Well, for now I’d stay in stealth mode.”  It hurts, but she _has_ to say it.  “And stay away from here.”

“So run and hide,” Stark grimly surmises.

It sounds so awful.  “Until we can find Ultron, I don’t have a lot else to offer.”

Stark nods, defeated.  “Neither do we.”  He kills the transmission before she can say anything further.  Maria leans forward, rubbing her fingertips into her forehead, trying to massage away some of the ache that has settled there since the news of the Hulk’s rampage in Africa first surfaced.  She’s angry at Stark for getting them into this mess.  She’s angry that this happened.  She’s angry there’s nothing she can do, nothing she can say to help.   _Nothing to offer._   Mostly… mostly she’s angry that she’s here and Steve’s there and she has no idea if he’s okay.  Desperate, she brings up the mission reports before she can stop herself or think better of it.  With a swipe of her fingers, she places the team’s vitals from Iron Man’s sensors at the top.  All of them are there, not just Steve’s, and even though there’s no one there to see, she puts on some ridiculous show for herself at looking through the others first.  Then she sees his.  He _is_ fine.  Physically.  His vital signs are all completely normal.  But she’s not stupid.  This doesn’t tell her what he saw, what he’s feeling.  She swipes the data off the screen in frustration, gets up, and walks away.

It was a strange thing, how she and Steve fell into each other after SHIELD went down.  She wasn’t able to leave him in the ICU, her guilt chaining her to his side and his understanding making her an oddly compliant prisoner.  They went their separate ways after that, she to New York to help Stark, he to hunt the Winter Soldier with Falcon.  A few long weeks went by with no contact.  During that time, she all but forgot about him, about those quiet, surprisingly pleasant moments in the hospital with him.  About how good it felt to do that for him, even just offer the silence of her company, as he recovered.  Thus when he showed up at her place in the city one night, rain-soaked, lost and beat up, and looking for a place to stay after failing to find Barnes…  Well, he didn’t have anywhere else to go, as he said, and she was the only person he could think to call.  The only person still left, with Romanoff gone and nothing left of SHIELD.  That was the first time she realized that he had lost everything, too.  Again, even.  Everything he built in this world gone, drowned with those helicarriers sinking into the river.  And he was discouraged, low and hurting, and even though she had no idea how to make any of that better, apparently what she offered him – letting him in and letting him clean up and patching up his wounds and giving him a hot meal – was enough.  He spent the night (on the couch).  He spent more and more time with her, platonically and then more.  One thing led to another.  One night on her balcony led to a kiss.  One night discussing their plans for the Avengers led to making love.  No strings attached at first.  Then far too many strings tying them together.  Two lost souls, two soldiers, clinging to each other with no commanding officer, no orders.  No home.  Nothing else left.  The next thing she knew, it was like her world was changing yet again.  It hadn’t disintegrated so much as shifted into something new, something bold.  Something just for her that made her feel useful and empowered in a way she hadn’t before.  It was because of him.

It still is.  She spends the next couple of hours worrying unabashedly.  She chastises herself; there’s way too much to do for this nonsense.  A veritable PR disaster is brewing, and she can’t even concentrate.  _Not knowing_ if he’s okay is driving her crazy.  She stumbles through her tasks, coordinating the relief effort in Africa, trying to keep the fallout to a minimum, fielding calls and offering up cold “no comment”’s to the press and scrambling to run triage for this chaos.  It’s so much that she eventually does forget about him.

And then he calls.  It’s extremely early the next morning.  She’s alone in her apartment, dressed in ratty pajamas and in a state she _never_ reveals to anyone (anyone except him) when her cellphone rings on her nightstand.  Somehow she knows it’s him.  “Hello?” she answers.

She can tell immediately from his tone that he’s suffering.  It reminds her of that night when he dripped all over her floor, standing strictly outside her door, watching her with aching eyes that were so blue and bright that she couldn’t look away.  She looks to the door now, but there’s nothing but shadows.  His voice is the same, though.  Rough and deep.  “Maria.”

She closes her eyes.  The tension leaves her just like that.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m…”  His hesitation hurts, and she finds that she can’t breathe while she waits.  “I’m okay.”

She doesn’t believe him it all.  His assurance was not said with his usual confidence.  Whatever happened shook him, and it shook him hard.  It takes a lot, she knows, because she’s seen him battle through things that would kill most people.  Not just physical things but emotional ones.  Waking up alone in the future.  SHIELD’s betrayal.  Failing to find Barnes.  That knocked him low for a while.  Not many people know that except for her and Wilson.  For Steve it was like failing again, falling again, letting him go again.  Losing his purpose.  And this was like that, too.  The same helplessness.  The same feeling of being lost, homeless, uprooted.  Trapped in a world that no longer seems right or makes sense.  This is the same.  She feels the same realization she felt that night.  The scale is smaller, SHIELD shattering rather than the world fast-forwarding seven decades, but she can appreciate what it feels like to be weightless.

And she can hear that, all of that, right now in what he said.  It’s not much, but it never needs to be.  They say a lot to each other without many words.  There’s subtext, things between the lines that she’s learned to read, ways he’s learned to talk to her.  She wants to know what he saw ( _Carter?_ ), but she doesn’t ask.  It’s not her business, and it would be disgustingly self-serving.  Insecurities are not something she obliges.  And she knows what to say instead.  “Steve.”  Her voice is calm, firm.  “Whatever she showed you…  It’s not the truth.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering that, letting it in, letting it be a comfort.  She can picture him again, that way he looks when he’s mulling something over, when he wants to believe it.  She knows him well enough to know he will.  “I’m okay,” he finally says again.

This time she believes him, and she smiles into her phone even though he can’t see it.  It feels good, taking care of him.  Just like it did that first night, bandaging up his injuries, giving him what he needed.  Watching him recover himself, one sure breath and timid smile at a time.  Sometimes that’s all that matters.  Offering up solace when there’s nothing else to offer.  It feels good.

She’s getting used to that, making him feel stronger, better.  She stands from her bed once they’ve ended the call and goes to her chair in her room where his brown leather jacket from the other night is.  She lifts it, the leather soft in her hands, and brings it close to her face.  Breathes deeply.  Closes her eyes.  No matter where this goes or how it ends, in this new world, she’s there to help him fight.  They’re soldiers.  Fighting is what they do.

* * *

Ultron nearly drops the entire city of Sokovia to earth like a meteor.  In terms of super villain plans, it’s not the craziest she’s seen, but it’s up there.  The Avengers put a stop to it.  For a moment or two, it seems like the team was too splintered to win.  But win they do, led by Captain America.  Once again, she may not be certain of everything, but she is damn sure of Captain America’s determination to do right by this world.

She watches most of the battle from the sidelines.  While Steve, Barton, and Romanoff went to Seoul to attempt to stop Ultron from fulfilling his vision, she found herself oddly in the employ of Fury again.  She should have known better than to ever think he was out of the game.  She learned everything she knows about espionage from him, and he’s never allowed himself to be beat.  Seeing the helicarrier (the _old_ one) rise from the ashes of SHIELD, arriving at Sokovia just as the crisis began to boil over…  That was so satisfying.  She has never minded logistics and interfacing, but this…  Fighting in the thick of it, directing assets, resources, and soldiers, overseeing the battle…  She’s in her element.

In the end, it’s old hat.  _Who even says_ that _anymore?_

With world destruction once again narrowly averted, things fall into place.  Granted, there’s a great deal to be done.  An entire city is gone, vaporized, leaving a crater where people had once lived.  There’s the matter of the refugees, thousands of them, and finding a suitable place for them to go.  There are wounded civilians and angry politicians and the shocked population of the world with which to deal.  She takes the reins and leads.  At Fury’s side, she stands and does what she does best.

Sometime later (she’s not sure how many hours have passed, honestly, but it’s enough that she’s tired.  Next morning, she thinks) she finds her way back to her old quarters.  This is as she remembers, the spartan décor, the gunmetal gray and chrome, the condensed space and tight confines.  The little desk and little bunk.  Totalitarian and practical, very far from the extravagance and flourish of Avengers Tower.  She feels freer there than she has recently.

Just as she’s emerging from the tiny shower, there’s a knock at her door.  Putting a robe on, she walks to it.  For she reason she actually wonders who it could be, but that’s just stupid.  It’s Steve, of course.  She doesn’t know why she’s so surprised.  “Agent Hill,” he greets evenly after she opens the door.  He’s filthy, covered in concrete dust and dirt.  It’s caked thick in his hair.  There are some bruises here and there and a couple scrapes, and he’s standing not quite as tall as he usually does.  Still, his eyes are alight with relief.  He’s alright.  She knows that, has known it for hours.  She made a point of covertly finding out from one of the techs monitoring the team during the fight against Ultron and his army.  But knowing and seeing are two very different things.  “Director Fury asked me to debrief you on the situation with the last of the refugees.”

She’s feeling so stupidly satisfied, more satisfied than she can ever recall feeling, that it’s damn hard to keep the smile from her face.  All the other dark times in her life, the difficult battles as a child and as a teenager, the long missions and hard operations for SHIELD, the times before when the world has nearly ended…  She’s never had this.  Someone after the fight.  Someone coming to her.  Someone _there_ for her.  She’s almost giddy she’s so excited.  And she’s not above playing (or playing with him).  “Now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She feigns weariness, even though her heart’s beating louder and harder than it has all afternoon despite the adrenaline rush.  And she feigns irritation.  “It can’t wait?”

“It can’t wait,” he affirms, trying hard not to smile himself.

She sighs.  “Alright, Captain.”

Turns out the tiny shower is just big enough for both of them.  So is the little bunk (well, as long as she stays mostly on top of him, which is just fine with her).  It’s risky and bold, doing this _here_ of all places, exactly where she _never_ wants to be seen as anything less than that ice queen, but somehow she can’t bring herself to care that she’s been compromised.  She can’t think about anything other than him being here, warm, solid, and strong, and how good it feels.  She lays there, her skin to his, listening to his heart beat and the helicarrier engines hum, and loses herself in it all.  No big picture.  Just the little details of this new day.  She sleeps immersed in them.

It’s not until a couple of weeks later, when the new Avengers are gathering to begin training in the new training facility in upstate New York, that she realizes the jig is really up.  The cat’s out of the bag.  She’s watching the team work through its first session together, watching Captain America start to mold them into shape, watching Steve _unabashedly_ flourish in _his_ element, when the Vision comes to stand beside her during a lull in the action.  He’s a strange creature that she still can’t quite understand, not how he came into being or even what he is.  But he stares at her with his odd eyes, and something about it seems… familiar.  “I just wish to tell you that your secret remains safe with me.”

That surprises her, but of course she controls her reaction.  She has many secrets, even still, but there’s only one she really cares about protecting anymore.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Vision bows his head deferentially, but there is a knowing smile on his lips.  “As you wish.  My lips are sealed.”  He heads back to the others, his yellow cape fluttering behind him, and she’s left wondering.  Is that his way of saying “uh-huh” with the same knowing disbelief that everyone else did?  Does everyone know?  Does it matter?  Did it ever?

 _No._   All of it probably should leave her more unsettled than it actually does.  Instead she simply goes back to watching Steve.

It’s not until later that they steal a moment alone.  The training room is quiet.  She’s standing in its center, making a few notes on her tablets and listening to the quiet.  Watching the sunset more than she’s working.  It’s pretty, gold on the green grass, and the woods are still beyond the complex.  He comes, still dressed in his uniform, his shield on his back.  Steady and unwavering.  “You’ve got some work to do, Captain,” she comments lightly, going back to her reports as he stands at her side.

“Yep,” he agrees.  “A lot of it.”

She tips her head.  “Costs to pay.”

“Yep.”  His hand is big and strong, lifting her chin away from her work.  He smiles, so close she can see the light in his eyes.  “And they’re high sometimes.  But I don’t mind paying them.  Never have.”

Discretion be damned.  Her pads clatter to the floor as he draws her close.  She relaxes into that, closing her eyes and sighing.  With everything that happened, the world that shifts and twists around them, this has somehow stayed the same.  A constant.  “You know what I told Tony?” he murmurs into her ear.  She doesn’t answer, wrapping her arms around him instead.  He holds her tight, and she doesn’t fight, doesn’t squirm, lets him breathe warmly into her neck.  “I told him I was home.”

She can’t ignore the warmth inside her at that.  “You are?”

He pulls back to look into her.  “Are you?”

 _Home._   The place where she belongs.  The place where he does.  There’s no need to hide anything here.  “Yes.”

“Then so am I.”  He grins.  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“You are?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He does.  And it feels so, _so_ good.

**THE END**


End file.
